


Contrition

by emynii, ObliObla



Series: Nia & Obli's Whumptober 2019 [12]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Pegging, Season/Series 01, Smut, whumptober2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 16:16:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21018650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emynii/pseuds/emynii, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/pseuds/ObliObla
Summary: Same game, new rules, but neither of them know exactly what they are. Falling back into old habits should be easy, so why does everything seem so different?For the Whumptober prompt: “Don’t move”





	Contrition

**Author's Note:**

> Additional warnings are in the end notes.

She thrusts into him over and over, faster and faster, the slick, black, double-ended dildo tugging at her inner walls from the pull and push. Her hips slam into his as her fingernails cut into his shoulders, and he’s giving as good as he gets, moaning breathlessly and shoving back against her.

“Don’t move,” she commands, and punctuates it with a hard slap to his ass. He tightens around the silicone before pushing it out reflexively. The bulb at the end hits her cervix with a satisfying force.

He laughs breathlessly and ignores her, redoubling his efforts and grinding back against her more roughly. She loses herself to how good it feels, and she almost lets herself come, heat pulsing, stretched wide, listening to his moans. But she has a point to make, and so she stops, grabs his hips, and holds him still.

_ “Mazie,” _ he whines, arching his back enticingly, trying to get her to fuck him again, but she is undeterred.

She leans over him, the change in angle making him hiss, the shift in pressure making her sigh, and pins him to the bed, her lips at his ear. “You will stay _ still,” _ she orders.

He says nothing, only breathes steadily, but if he wanted out of this she knows she can’t really keep him down. This is the game they play; these are the things they pretend.

Or the game they _ did _ play, as he hasn’t let her in his bed—against his wall, on the bar, any of the places that are customarily _ theirs— _for months.

And she’s sick of it.

He groans when she starts up her punishing rhythm again, the slap of skin on skin loud in the otherwise empty penthouse. And she should have insisted he be taken in the club, in that place they share, in front of all his human subjects, in front of— She shakes her head, pulling herself back to this moment. She supposes this will have to do.

For now.

His hips begin to jerk against the bed, and she freezes, midway through a thrust. He makes a wordless noise of frustration, and she grabs him by the hair, pulling curls free of product and restraint.

“Do. Not. Move.”

He snarls, and his voice holds hellish authority when he says, “Cease this.”

_ “No.” _

She digs her fingers into the scars where she cut his wings off—ignoring the unpleasant, unfamiliar twinge in her chest at the thought—and scratches lines of scarlet down his back.

He goes limp under her, and she chokes out a laugh. “Good boy,” she says, gouging out another strip of skin, making him muffle his groans into the pillow. She starts moving again, and he takes her strokes with all the grace he possesses.

Which isn’t much, but she’ll take what she can get, at this point.

Her pace is relentless, and it isn’t long before she can barely take in breaths, her vision graying out from the overwhelming sensation—only with him can she be as rough as she wants, can she come as hard as she already knows she’s going to, white-hot pleasure coursing through her veins like she’s fucking starlight. She’s so close, so close, _ so— _

“So, what, _ precisely, _ are you punishing me for?” he asks conversationally, his almost bored tone killing her high.

She slumps onto his back and pants against his neck, frustrated. But she can’t tell him the truth, can’t let him have that sort of power over her, so much more dangerous than the strength of him between her legs. And, besides, she hardly understands it herself. So she says nothing.

He twists his upper body around, and she sits up to accommodate him, annoyed at herself for the concession. His dark eyes are filled with humor, and she wants to slap it off, but she’s also tired. She doesn’t have the energy to fight, not like this, not when there’s something real to lose.

“Have I been neglecting you, Mazikeen?” he asks, half-mockingly, sticking his lip out in a pout like he does with the humans, like it’ll deceive them into thinking he’s harmless. But she knows better. He tilts his head, considering her and her silence.

“Say it, then.”

She growls.

He laughs.

She tries to push him back into the mattress, but he resists. He’s done playing, it seems. Or maybe this is a different kind of game, one where she doesn’t know the rules.

She tries again, leveraging her weight, her superior position, the heaviness of the cock still embedded in his ass. But his eyes flash red, and, in an instant, he is above her, and she is the one pressed against the bed, his cock hard against her thigh. The feeling fills her with desire, and it fills her with rage.

_ “Say it, demon,” _ he hisses.

She glares up at him, refusing to concede. She tries to throw him off, and he pins her, catching her wrists and pulling them over her head.

He stares at her, eyes roiling with flames, and she arches her back, rubbing against him, angry at herself for granting him such an easy victory.

But this is what she wanted, isn’t it? His time, his attentions? _ His trust_, a traitorous voice whispers in her ear, but she ignores it. What she _ wants _ is there to be nothing between them, and she’s got that, hasn’t she?

No clothes, no games, no distance—nothing but the silicone cock still inside her, and, as soon as she has that thought, he’s abandoned her wrists to take it in hand. He presses it into her almost brutally, pleasure and pain mixing in the best of ways.

She keens, high and wanting, and she knows she’s well and truly lost. But she’s glad for it—she has to be; it’s the only option—and she bucks her hips into his grip.

“Tell me,” he says, and there’s enough desperation in his tone she can convince herself that he desires this closeness as much as she does. That he also longs for when she was the only one he could trust.

“I need it,” she whispers, barely above her own harsh breathing; she can’t make herself speak any louder. _ I need you, _ her mind whispers, but she can’t make herself say _ that _ at all. Unlike the humans, she knows he’s dangerous, and _ this _ is something she can never trust anyone with, least of all him.

There’s almost tenderness in his motions when he pulls the toy from her, tossing it onto the floor, and, when he presses into her, she’s no longer lost. She finally knows where she stands; even if it’s not as high as she’d like, she’s beside him, and that’s all she asks for.

It’s all she _ can _ ask for, all she dares to.

She clutches at his back and moves with him. His breath is hitching in her ear, his hands are firm and sure against her skin, and it’s this that she’s missed. She scratches her fingernails down his back again, and he snarls, letting his other face shine through.

She growls, and reveals her true form, feeling free in a way she is rarely allowed. He touches her cheeks, her chin, her lips, presses at the sinew there. The twinge in her chest aches again, and it unnerves her. She needs control, so she works up some leverage and flips them, setting a faster rhythm.

His rough, ragged hands grasp her hips, dig into her skin as she takes him into her, over and over, faster and faster. And with every thrust, she feels something she’d never call faith thrum through her veins, something she doesn’t even have a name for warming her bones.

He sits up beneath her, fingers sliding to where they’re joined, pressing against her with impeccable timing. She grabs his head, reveling in the feeling of the ridges of his skull as he breathes hotly into her mouth. She’s close, she’s _ so _ close, and she forces eye contact, staring deep into the fire in his eyes, seeing Hell, seeing home.

She comes with a shout like a battle cry, and he follows after, shooting warmth up her spine, and _ this _ is where she’s supposed to be. This is where _ they’re _ supposed to be. Comrades in arms, always having each other’s backs. The only way to survive.

He pulls away quickly, roughly, but they are not soft, little humans, and she’s glad that he’s back to normal. She stands, sticky and satisfied, and goes to the bar where she pours them both a drink. She heads back into the bedroom to hand him his scotch, but he is on the phone, turned away from her.

“Of course, Detective,” he says, voice low and appearance human again. “I’ll be there momentarily.” He hangs up and wanders away, into his closet to dress.

And she is left standing by the bed, drinks in hand, cum dripping slowly down her thighs.

**Author's Note:**

> Additional warnings: Emotional manipulation, possessive behavior


End file.
